Finding My Way Home
by lovemeartless
Summary: Arthur always thought he had nothing to lose when he was forced to marry a man who was in love with someone else. But then, something that he never thought would happen to him happened. He fell in love. Can everything that went wrong in his world still go right?
1. Chapter 1

**Note:** This is a long one-shot that I posted/will post in instalments. Also, possibly typos that escaped my dyslexic mind.

 **Warnings:** Yaoi, Shounen-ai, Alternate Universe, High School, Normal Humans Not Nations, Angst, Drama, Sex, Rape/Non-Con/Dub-Con Elements, Ideologically Sensitive, Genderbent!Canada, Not USUK-friendly, FrUK, AmCan, USUK (One-Sided & Dysfunctional)

 **Disclaimer:** Please take time to read the (lengthy) standard disclaimer in my profile page. It's for _all_ my Hetalia stories, so once you've read it you'll never have to read again, yay! Cheers!

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Story #108:

 **"Finding My Way Home"**

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"Please... Alfred..."

"Don't make me repeat myself, Artie."

Arthur cringed. He hated that nickname. But more than the nickname, right now, he hated his life.

His husband had come home from another party with his friends, indecently drunk. Everyone knew that their marriage was never one destined to be sunshine and roses. It was no secret that Alfred F. Jones had always wanted to marry someone else; his high school sweetheart, beautiful and gentle-souled Madelyn Williams; _not_ prim and proper, stiff-upper-lipped Arthur Kirkland.

But both he and Alfred were in no position to make choices to do with their future. Or that's what they've been led to believe. Their parents had died when they were very young and they had fallen under the care of an aunt and uncle; distant ones. It didn't matter if Alfred didn't love Arthur. It didn't matter that they were distant cousins either. There were far greater reasons for marriage, like if it happened to be the most convenient means to a convenient end. Money, power, and influence were the only things that mattered. To their aunt and uncle, teenagers were reckless, naïve, and stupid troublesome things; and the same can be said for the things they wanted.

While Arthur has never had any romantic relationships or interests prior to his marriage, he did hold feelings for Alfred which he thought was more than just sympathy, at first. It was prompted and propagated by the conditions imposed on them by their guardians. They were required to spend as much time together as often as possible during their engagement. Ironically, during their would-be dates, the only subject they could ever bond over was Alfred's true love, Madelyn Williams, whom Arthur happened to be best friends with. He knew Maddie well and whenever he talked about her, Alfred's usually bored expression would instantly reverse. He would actually look- _happy_.

However, these enamoured feelings he thought he had for Alfred faded soon after they were wed, when he woke up to reality. He was resigned to the fact that the "husband" he was forced to have didn't like him at all and never will, not even as a companion. The set-up left him ailing for his freedom as much as Alfred longed to be with Maddie. For both of them, their current arrangement was a curse; _a long and slow death_ via a lifetime of regret and misery. One they could not run from even after nearly one year of marriage and discontentment. They were still minors and helpless to go against their guardians' wishes.

Arthur's depression worsened with time and he would occasionally find himself obsessing over suicide. But Alfred wasn't faring any better. In fact, it was evident that Alfred was hard-pressed to cope even half as well. Where Arthur found writing and painting no less than life-saving outlets for those days when he was tempted to do nothing else but plot out his own perfect death, Alfred only ever seemed to find solace in alcohol, nightly parties, binge eating, and promiscuous flings.

To understate the obvious: Alfred grew embittered towards Arthur. He blamed Arthur for not resisting their arrangement even the slightest. He spited Arthur and Arthur's initial infatuation with him which he was convinced was the nail that sealed both their coffins. He believed that if only they both spoke up against the arrangement then, their guardians might have been swayed to reconsider. He was possessed by the idea that Arthur deliberately separated him from Maddie. The prospect of all that could have been consumed him and aggressively ate away at his soul. If only Arthur hadn't been so selfish, maybe his life wouldn't be so fucked up today. _If only…_

Indeed, regret was a merciless malaise.

Most days, Alfred would either not be at home at all or would ignore Arthur altogether whenever he was; which were days Arthur liked better than the rest. The rest wherein he would wake up bruised and battered, and consequently self-destructive.

Yet those were still preferable to days like these. Days when Alfred came home drunk and instead of ignoring or hitting him and being done with it, he was made to play this game…

A game called: " _My name is Maddie Williams_ ".

No matter how much Arthur deplored this ritual the first times he was subjected to it, his feelings for Alfred always won in the end. Such was no longer the case now. Arthur had been disenchanted from his misguided feelings long ago and would choose to play along out for a totally different emotion; one that was proving to be just as fatal as naïve infatuation: _pity_.

When he got tired of being the submissive suicidal spouse, he began to empathize with Alfred, genuinely feeling sorry for him. He had always thought that he was the one on the verge of breaking, the first one who would leap off that proverbial cliff. But he realized that if anyone was standing too far out on that ledge about to lose his footing, it was Alfred.

Alfred Jones truly loved Maddie Williams. And he, Arthur Kirkland, tore them apart. _He_ _deserved this_.

Arthur squirmed uncomfortably as the flimsy fabric chafed the sensitive skin around his groin. The lacy see-through flowing top that hung high above his belly button matched the lacy see-through panties, and they were incredibly uncomfortable. Something to be expected with clothes that weren't meant for you. The final article he was required to wear with the lingerie were the eyeglasses. A pair perfectly identical to the ones Maddie wore, from the frame down to the prescribed lens refraction.

Arthur squinted through the spectacles, somehow grateful that he couldn't clearly make out his reflection on the full-length mirror in their bathroom wall. He didn't need to confirm what he already knew: that he looked _hideous and disgusting_. He was never that comfortable with the way he looked to begin with. Cross-dressing to pass off as a parody of a beautiful woman like Madelyn Williams was the worst degradation his already crippled ego could suffer from. He wanted to indulge in self-pity and crying like he used before. But that would rob him of what little dignity left that he worked hard to preserve for nights such as these. So he heaved and took deep steady breaths instead to keep the fragile parts of him together. Besides, Alfred hated it when he cried and it only added injury to insult, so to speak. Arthur was still a student of seventeen and he didn't need any more fresh bruises to show off at the university when the ones he got last week hadn't even completely vanished yet. He was already the headlines of gossip frequent enough as it is.

His thoughts scatter as hollering from outside reminds him that Alfred Jones didn't take kindly to waiting. With one last rake through his rebellious hair in an attempt to tame it, he sighed tossed the hairbrush aside. He had soft blond hair like Maddie's but his wavy, unruly mane could never be inveigled to go along and pretend it was straight and groomed like Maddie's. Shaky fingers fumbled with the doorknob a few more heart-stopping seconds before it finally turned and allowed him to step out into their bedroom.

Alfred was propped on their king-sized bed looking moodier and more unkempt than usual; bored eyes lock onto him as he approached. Arthur knew too well by now that a bored Alfred was an uncompromising one.

Alfred was straighter than a ironing board and occasionally passive-aggressively homophobic so Arthur knew that Alfred was not making him dress up as Maddie to satisfy some perverse kink. He was emotionally ill and being with Madelyn Williams was the only cure; even if all he had was make-believe. Truth be told, Arthur wouldn't have minded kinky dress-up games if he didn't have to pretend to be someone he was not. Of course, it would be even nicer if he were actually in love with the man he was doing it for and vice-versa. Being in love made everything in the world seem right. But this? Everything about it was just _so wrong._

Arthur stood tensely by the foot of the bed for his drunken husband to scrutinize, wobbling on heels two sizes too small and doing his best not to flinch as his toes were slowly crushed alive. This was the closest to sexual intimacy they'd ever get. In the eleven months they'd been married, they never had sex, didn't kiss, touch or interact the way normal couples did; not even casual conversation passed between them. Their marriage was only for show, after all. They both knew this, and neither of them expected anything else. At first glance, it appeared that Arthur was on the losing end of their arrangement, but he really didn't care anymore. He had no objections with his husband doing whatever he desired, just as long he was left to do his own thing, which was basically completing his studies in peace.

Unfortunately, this indifferent yet "civil" set-up all changed when Alfred got into the habit of drinking. He came home one day in a very bad mood and got violent with Arthur for the very first time. The drunken beatings got more often after that, but thankfully lessened when Alfred started sleeping around. He knew he shouldn't have kept mum about everything going on in their marriage, that he should at least seek help, but his guilt compelled him to bear it all. He didn't understand why his life had gotten so screwed up but he did know one thing for certain: He's never fallen in love with anyone the way Alfred had always been with Maddie. The feeling of being heartbroken -even if their reasons for being so were slightly different- was something he could relate to well enough. He didn't lose anything more than a freedom he never had anyway when he married Alfred; whereas Alfred lost everything, and with the way things were going? It looked like Alfred stood to lose even more.

"What's your name." The American boy's tone was low and flat.

"My name… is Madelyn Williams," Arthur replied as meekly as he could.

"Who am I?"

"M-my true love, Alfred Jones…"

Alfred looked pained and conflicted, but only for a split-second.

"Touch yourself, for me."

Arthur knew too well by now, that disobedience would get him nowhere pretty. He was tired and he wanted this to be over quick. Alfred was usually satisfied and would fall asleep as soon as he got off. So he did as he was told and moved to stroke himself, trying his best to act the part even if he felt sick to the core.

After watching him for a full minute, Alfred motions him closer and impatiently lodges his bare foot in between Arthur's thighs and roughly presses into his groin.

"Say my name as you make yourself come."

Madelyn Williams was very shy and soft-spoken, the epitome of elegance and sophistication; and that's how Arthur was expected to act during these depraved role-playing sessions. It wasn't easy when the frilly laces of the tight fabric were like tiny razors against his skin, and the more Alfred rubbed his foot against his sensitive parts, the more unbearable the pain got. _Still._ It was a really bad idea to upset Alfred when he was drunk. He squeezed his eyes tight and again, did his best to obey.

"Al- Alfre-unf!"

Arthur's forehead smashes into the solid edge of the bedframe when his body jerks forward, completely unprepared for the sudden kick to his stomach.

"Forget it! Fuck this!" Alfred spat, getting up from the bed and standing before the body curled up on the carpet.

Arthur groaned, trying to blink away the burning holes of blinding light in his vision; panic setting in fast. He braced himself, knowing he was going to get hit some more. Despite all the overwhelming shame and pain he was already feeling, it still wasn't debilitating enough to numb his ears from Alfred's scathing words.

"You're not Maddie and you never will be, you ugly freak! Get the hell out of my sight!"

Arthur didn't need to be told twice. The stinging weight settling in his chest is what gave him the surge of adrenaline he needed. In an instant, he was gone from their bedroom -only he didn't run to his study like he usually would- he grabbed his coat and hastily pulled on his boots before running out into the street. He could hear Alfred yelling after him, asking him where the hell he was going and it only made him run faster.

 **To be continued...**

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(11/18/2012 - 06/28/2017)


	2. Chapter 2

Normally, Alfred would have easily caught up with him if he wanted to. Several glances over his shoulder later assured him that wasn't going to be the case tonight. Immense relief washed over him as he rounded a bend and leant against the cold and damp wall to catch his breath. Not long after, as if the heavens were commiserating with him, the evening sky is illuminated by a flash of lighting and the ominous rumbling of thunder that followed was the only warning he got before rain comes down upon him in buckets.

He didn't bother running for shelter. He closed his eyes and finally allowed tears to fall and mingle with the icy drops of rain on his face. He cried for as long as he could until he couldn't feel his extremities anymore from how badly he was shivering. It didn't really take that long; he was practically naked underneath his trench coat.

There were times when he hated his life enough to want to forfeit it but he was never one to complain. The truth is, he was even rather happy with what he had outside his marriage. He loved writing and painting with a passion. Painting, in particular, allowed him to purge himself of unhappiness. Through his art, he could be everything he secretly dreamt of. As long as he had his art, he could be free, and that had always been more than enough for him. Arthur Kirkland prided himself but a simple man with simple dreams. His greatest, wildest fantasy was of running away and becoming a painter someday in some faraway countryside town; to live a humble life and die a quiet death pretty much summed it up. It wasn't a lot to ask of the universe, realistically speaking, but it was always too far away from what reality threw his way. Somehow, his simple dreams were always too impossibly out of reach. At least, at present. Optimism, a laughable and jejune trait as it may be to some, was something he greatly benefitted from. It's what kept the dreams and daydreams alive, and in essence, him. One day, when he had paid the price of his mistake in full, maybe he would finally be able to allow himself to believe that he deserved better…

The gratuitous cry had unburdened his heart and mind just enough to get his legs to start walking to find shelter. But he wasn't really paying attention to where his feet took him and it was easy to wander aimlessly because at the dead of the night all the streets and buildings just looked the same. There more he walked, the lesser pedestrians and vehicles he saw until they disappeared altogether. When he finally stopped, he found himself at an unfamiliar road with generic looking brick houses lining either side. He tilted his head upward to the skies for lack of a better option. _Goodness, what has he gotten himself into now?_

The rain was but a light drizzle now after what seemed like hours of torrential downpouring. But the heavens remained a vast inky blackness, a featureless void without a single celestial body in sight.

Despite his predicament, trembling lips formed a smile. It was beautiful, in an eerie way; the world above him entirely blotted out. He suddenly wished he could paint over his life just like the clouds erased the sky that night. By dawn, all his woes would have been washed away and he could start all over again. A hollow shaky laugh escaped him, echoing through the silence. He must be delirious and freezing to death if he was having such fanciful notions. Trying to gather his wits, he pushed his tired feet forward, hoping to find even just an awning or an alley where he could sit the night through. He chided himself for not even remembering to grab some cash and a credit card from his wallet. If he was going to wallow in silly fantasies he would have rather done so at some affordable hotel after a hot shower and tucked snugly in a warm cosy bed.

But thanks to his mindless haste, he was lost in the middle of nowhere instead, chilled to the spine and sore in ill-fitting lingerie. He shivered as another rogue breeze hit him; it didn't look like the night was going to get any warmer. He was bound to die of hypothermia if he stayed out here any longer. He could try to find a police station to borrow some money but he didn't want to have to explain why he was stranded outside in female lingerie like some stoned sexual deviant. He was still not desperate enough to opt for more disgrace over imminent death. Death was, in so many ways, a quicker, more painless route to freedom, after all. It's not like he had any better options at the moment anyway. There weren't any other signs of life yet as far as he could see and exhaustion was beginning to settle in…

 **-x-**

"C'est vraiment magnifique!"

Arthur turned amidst the students milling out of the room as their Arts and Culture class ended, and his mouth fell agape.

Standing behind him and staring at his half finished painting over his shoulder was Francis Bonnefoy, the exchange student from Normandy who happened be top in their class. Arthur secretly worshipped Francis' paintings and sculptures so much that he thought him an artistic genius. Never in his craziest imaginings did he see Francis complimenting his work. In fact, merely getting noticed by someone so special was already a gross impossibility in his mind. The French boy was so popular that everyone in their class was constantly all over him, vying for his undivided attention. Arthur would always just be watching from one corner of the classroom, doing an excellent job of being invisible.

Francis Bonnefoy was so close now, blue eyes dancing over his canvas, seemingly genuinely enthralled by his work. From a distance, the French boy was already a breath-taking sight to behold. Arthur's expectations of what he'd look like up-close did not do the actuality justice at all.

Arthur always thought Francis' eyes were the most intriguing shade of blue he's ever seen. But it turns out he was wrong. Francis' eyes defied description. They were so overwhelmingly deep and blue and alive; as hypnotizing as the shifting waves of the endless sea. It was hard to miss how heavenly Francis smelled as well. Whatever perfume he was wearing, it had to be some sort of aphrodisiac because it was making sizzling jolts of electricity spiral all through his body. Of course, it didn't help that the French boy had the face of a god to boot; one both handsome and beautiful all at once, it was almost unfair that he was allowed to walk the earth.

When Francis' gaze finally shifted to meet his, Arthur suddenly couldn't remember how to breathe. And then Francis smiled and he was sure his heart had stopped for good.

"Bonjour! Zatiss such a lovely painting!"

"H-hullo. T-t-thank you…" Arthur cringed inwardly at how undone he sounded.

"Francis Bonnefoy." Arthur slowly moved to accept Francis' proffered hand and gasped when his hand was suddenly grasped firmly and given a strong, hearty shake. For some reason the action must have short-circuited his brain because he couldn't remember his name.

"I'm- uhm… Ahh… err… A-Arthur! Arthur Kirkland."

"It's such a pleasure to finally meet you, Arthur..."

 _Finally?_

Francis laughed as Arthur's jaw fell agape. Then ever so slowly he released Arthur's hand to lean in and eagerly examine the English boy's painting once again.

"Diziss really superb! You are very good."

"Hardly. But thank you. You're too kind."

"I didn'tz know zat someone in our class couldz paint so well!"

Arthur self-consciously packed the last of his belongings in a daze, trying to think of something to say but coming up a total blank.

By now, the classroom was empty and Francis was the only one left there with him, still admiring his painting right up until the canvas was slipped into its carrying case. Finally, Arthur slung his messenger bag across his shoulders and turned, half expecting Francis to say goodbye. But he didn't. He smiled again and made to walk out alongside him, which Arthur had no objections to, shocked as he may be.

"Ze theme for our final exam iz very interesting, _non?_ " Francis said cheerily as they exited the room and trudged leisurely down the hallway. "So, 'ave you… decided on what your subject will be?"

Everything was going so fast. Arthur was still trying to process the unbelievable turn of events. It took him a good few seconds before his mind caught on. _Subject?_ _Final exam?_ Oh, right.

The theme for their last painting of the semester was Japanese themed:

 _"Jibun de Mottomo Utsukushii Mono"_

Roughly translated: 'The Most Beautiful Thing In Your Eyes'.

They had to paint something beautiful, not in an objective sense but on a much more personal level. A thing of beauty not obvious to everyone but undeniable to the artist.

The Japanese word 'utsukushii' meant 'beauty' not merely of a physical nature but more a spiritual one. It was supposed to denote a thing of such divine beauty that it would move you to tears.

In all honesty, Arthur wasn't quite sure he understood what he was supposed to paint. True, he's been moved to tears lots of times, but they hardly for reasons he'd describe as 'beautiful'. The theme was overly pretentious in his original opinion. But now that Francis was saying that he was thrilled by it, Arthur found his cynicism zapped to insignificant particles.

Arthur shrugged. "I'm sure everyone in class wants to paint you."

Francis stared at him, causing his heart to falter some more and his brain to lag further. By the time his companion's expression of surprise registered, he realized his own slip-up too late. Arthur's cheeks mimicked bonfires and he could do nothing but mentally chastise himself as the French boy chuckled.

Francis dismissed the compliment saying that he hasn't gotten any offers so far. Arthur barely managed to stop himself from scoffing out loud at that. Everyone in class had looked in Francis direction as soon as the professor announced the theme. All of them were clearly dying to ask Francis to be their model and it nearly made him hurl. But then again, he wasn't so sure if he was in any position to judge.

"Zank you, all ze same. I'm flattered you zink so."

"I don't just 'think' it. I noticed it."

"Oh?" The look of utter curiosity on Francis' face baffled Arthur. _Could Francis really be that oblivious?_

"You'd have to be blind not to notice."

"Izzat so?" The French boy's smile turned wistful. "Maybe I am."

Arthur halted in his tracks as Francis stepped in front of him the next moment and grasped his shoulders with unmistakeable albeit careful urgency.

"I actually came up to you for a favour, Ar'zzur…" Francis' eyes bore hard into his and it made Arthur hold his breath. "You see, I alreadzy know what –or, _who_ \- I wish to paint… but… I do not know if zat someone will let me. Do you zink you couldz 'elp me out?"

Arthur blinked. "M-Me? W-wait- why me? I'm… I'm a nobody. You're the one who knows –and is liked by- everyone in class! I'm sure if you simply asked whoever this was, she would agree. I can't imagine why you would…" The longer he met the taller boy's stare the harder it got to breathe. "…need me." But he couldn't tear himself away nevertheless.

Francis' grip slid from his shoulders down to hands, clasping it within his own and squeezing emphatically. "It's a 'he', by ze way…" A shy smile. "Andz, I indubitably _need_ you, because…

"Itiss _you_ I want to paint."

A deafening hush fell over the world for some moments, until nervous laughter bubbled up from Arthur's throat. "…You're bloody joking, _right?_ "

Francis bit his lip and averted his eyes to the floor as his cheeks coloured, but after some endless seconds, finally looked back up at him with a small smile. "Of course not. I zink you are perfect."

Arthur really couldn't think of anything to say to that. Rather, he simply couldn't think anymore.

"I really don'tz want to paint anyone else but you. It 'as to be you! So _please,_ zink about it, _d'accord?_ It would make me so happy."

Francis wrote his phone number and address on a scrap of paper and tucked it inside Arthur's coat pocket. A chaste peck to his cheek later, he was gone; but Arthur remained frozen in the middle of that corridor for a very long time…

 **To be continued...**


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